Sam and Frieda: Good in the World
by Pennan Inque
Summary: For my friend Troy's birthday. Sorry it took so long, buddy. The "There's Good in the World" scene from Two Towers with a gender-bent Frodo.


**Happy (very belated) birthday, Troy. Merry Christmas. **

Osgiliath erupted in animalistic bellows and chaos as the nightmare itself materialized in the sky. Robed in its ebony cloak of shadows, the Nazgûl loomed over the war-ruined city alight a beast of sinew and carnage. The creature was of no worldly bird or serpent but was instead a twisted hybrid of the two, with a sleek, finely-scaled body paired with a slithering tail, ugly head, and an enormous set of wings, all adorned in spikes. The two were a match made in Hell, and would surely reduce Middle Earth to the same fiery torment if they had their way.

But Samwise Gamgee wasn't watching the blood-curdling duo. His gaze was trained on his companion and employer. Frieda Baggins, whose family garden was always tended to by the Gamgees for decades, stood approximately ten feet from Sam, her grey eyes glazed over. She swayed on her feet ever so slightly as she stared into the sky, lost in some sort of trance. The wind rustled her curly black hair, making it dance hypnotically around her head and across her lovely features. Had the situation not been so dire, Sam would have likely lost himself in a trance of his own.

Instead he looked on in horror as Frieda's hobbit feet began moving, bringing her closer to the Nazgûl and fell beast with every slow, mechanical step. Sam furrowed his brow. "What are ya doin'?" he asked unbelievably as she walked by. The words were lost to her and Sam watched helplessly as she continued on.

He followed her steadfastly through the ruins as she mutely stepped through the numerous collapsed arches and around the armored soldiers scrambling away from the airborne threat. Sam's stomach turned when she persistently carried on into the open. "Where are ya goin'!?"

No longer shielded from sight by the rubble of the combat-ravaged town, Frieda was in clear view of the world. Sensing the presence of the Ring of Power, both the fell beast and the Nazgûl headed toward the pavilion where the female hobbit stopped. They ascended before her, the creature's wings beating gusts of wind at the girl, sending her clothes and hair into a frenzy. The Nazgûl watched Frieda with invisible eyes, enchanting her with the same sort of witchcraft that Sam had seen cast over his friend before. Dazedly, Frieda reached for the chain around her neck and grasped it with zombie fingers. Her eyes never left the hidden ones of the Wraith as she slowly held the Ring up for it to see.

Time slowed as the Nazgûl regarded the Ring with emotionless victory. It spurred its steed closer, clutching the reins with its grotesque, scabbed hands. Frieda closed her eyes torpidly and waited in ghostly meditation for the fell beast to carry her off to Mordor in its claws.

Rushing out from the ruins, Sam sprinted as fast as his little hobbit legs could manage. Stretching out both arms, he flung them around Frieda and, holding on as tight to her as he could, hauled them both to the ground just as the talons of the flying monster sliced through air. From the ground Sam heard an arrow's whistle and the gruesome, stricken cry of the creature before he felt Frieda's weigh shift and the two hobbits were sent tumbling.

The stone steps were not kind to Samwise's body as he struck each crumbling stair on the descent down. His flesh screamed at him, roaring with each jar, but that gardener paid it no heed. His concern was centered on Frieda and how her fragile body, possessed as it was, was taking just as many hits as his was, if not more. There was no telling how much damage her petite form would take if she took the blunt of the impact when they finally landed on the ground. Sam mustered all his finesse to rotate their bodies in midair so he would land first. Frieda may not have been herself, but Sam would be damned if he allowed her to be hurt.

However, Samwise Gamgee was not known for his finesse.

Frieda groaned as her back rammed into rock. Sam cringed apologetically over her, his eyes scanning for any permanent or threatening injuries, before his expression quickly morphed into fear as Frieda grasped his cloak and rolled the two of them over. Her stormy eyes raged in a maelstrom as she quickly drew Sting and pointed it dangerously at Sam's neck, snarling.

Sweat coated Sam's face as he watched his friend with sorrow and dread. His breath came out in quick gasps and his gaze never left Frieda's crazed one. He gulped. "It's me," he said shakily. He was on the verge of tears. "It's your Sam."

Frieda's glare softened and her brows furrowed in confusion. Her face contorted as she struggled with herself, her sword trembling in her hand. Sam regarded her with unease, uncertain as to which personality was winning the war in her head. "Don't you know your Sam?" he asked sadly.

Recognition bled into Frieda's irises and she slowly started backing away, breathing hard. She watched her friend with horrified shock and astonishment, creeping off him until her back touched the crumbled remains of an archway. Sting clattered to the stone as Frieda let it go numbly, still lost in what she had almost done.

Sam touched his neck as if to ensure it was still in one piece. His breath came out in long, relieved gasps as he took a moment to compose himself. His eyes glued themselves to Frieda as he struggled to sit up. She rested her back on the pillar, her expression still one of utter astonishment and confused remorse. Her voice came out small and fragile and Sam's heart throbbed painfully at the stark contrast to its normal carefree tone. "I can't do this, Sam."

He yearned to embrace her, to cradle her in his arms, stroke her hair and promise her that everything was going to be okay. But he couldn't lie to her. "I know," he said instead, his voice cracking slightly at his raw emotion. He shakily got to his feet. "It's all wrong. By rights we shouldn't even be here." Frieda made no comment and Samwise sighed. Wandering to the edge of the pavilion, Sam rested his hand on the remains of the broken city and looked at the eerie sun on the horizon. It bathed the ruins and his face in a warm, pink glow. "But we are."

The fell beast appeared from the columns on the other half of Osgiliath, screeching and searching in vain. Sam cringed and shied away subconsciously, but the creature did not venture their way.

"It's like in the great stories, Miss Frieda," he said. His eyes followed the Nazgûl and its mount, but his thoughts ventured elsewhere. "The ones that really mattered. Full of darkness and danger, they were. And sometimes you didn't want to know the end. Because how could the end be happy? How could the world go back to the way it was when so much bad had happened?"

He glanced back at Frieda, who had rested her head against the rock, still looking helpless and lost. "But in the end, it's only a passing thing, this shadow. Even darkness must pass. A new day will come."

He turned back to the horizon, the rays reassuring him, encouraging him. "And when the sun shines it will shine out the clearer. Those were the stories that stayed with you. That meant something, even if you were too small to understand why."

He paused. "But I think, Miss Frieda, I do understand. I know now. Folk in those stories had lots of chances of turning back, only they didn't. They kept going. Because they were holding on to something."

Frieda spoke, her head hung in exhausted defeat. "What are we holding onto, Sam?"

Sam regarded her with gentle eyes before slowly leaning down to take her arms and haul her to her feet as delicately as he could. His hands slid and took her forearms to keep her steady as he held her, locking their gazes. Brown entreated blue, the raw, tender emotions attempting to soothe the azure desperation. "That there's some good in this world, Miss Frieda… and it's worth fighting for."

Frieda did not move as she took her friend's words in. After everything that had happened… the long and hazardous journey from home, the Orcs, the Goblins, the Nazgûl, the Ring of Power and its constant temptation, the physical and emotional turmoil, pain... how could there possibly be good left in the world?

But as she felt the warm hands on her arms, the steady breath against her face, the eyes that kept hers as they watched her with concern, with patience, with hope, with a tenderness that dusted her cheeks with a light blush, she understood.

Her hands moved to grip his arms back as her eyes welled. Sam's lips curled into a gentle little smile at her revelation, knowing his words had finally comforted her. But his words were not enough. Moving them from her forearms, Sam brought his hands around Frieda's figure to rest on her back, pulling her into a secure embrace. Her arms immediately flew around his torso and her chin rested on his shoulder. Tears freely slipped down her cheeks and her best friend held her amongst the ruins.

There was good left in the world.

And he had been by her side the entire time.


End file.
